


Keep Yourself Alive

by Mimi011



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Sickfic, allergy, alpha-gal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 08:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16991718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimi011/pseuds/Mimi011
Summary: Forty years in the future, Dr. Thomas Platts-Mills would be the first to correctly identify the alpha-gal allergy. In early 1970s, young John Deacon has to deal with suddenly becoming allergic to almost everything he eats.





	Keep Yourself Alive

**Author's Note:**

> "Alpha-gal allergy, also known as meat allergy or mammalian meat allergy (MMA),[1] is a reaction to galactose-alpha-1,3-galactose (alpha-gal), whereby the body is overloaded with immunoglobulin E (IgE) antibodies on contact with the carbohydrate.[2] The alpha-gal molecule is found in all mammals apart from Old World monkeys and the apes, which include humans. "
> 
> "Bites from certain ticks, such as the lone star tick in the US, which can transfer this carbohydrate to a victim, have been implicated in the development of this delayed allergic response to consumption of mammalian meat products.[4] "

 

_"The characteristics of reactions due to alpha-gal IgE are different from typical food allergic reactions. While common complaints include both gastrointestinal symptoms and hives, patients do not develop any symptoms until several hours after eating red meat. In fact, many reactions are delayed for 4–6 hours or even longer._

_Although the most common reported and observed symptom that heralded a reaction was pruritus, symptoms can progress to be severe or even life threatening."_

 

Everything seemed perfect after Queen’s American tour. The band was finally mainstream. It had taken a lot of blood, sweat and tears to get to where they were now, but it had all been worth it. Every rehearsal, every show, every bad row finally paid off.

At least, that was until John started feeling sick.

In the middle of recording a new bass riff for their next album, he stopped and stared down at his instrument with a worried look.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Freddie asked from the mixing studio through the intercom. 

John cocked his head in confusion. “I think my hands are swelling,” he said, inspecting his hands closer. “My fingers are puffy.”

The boys in the studio shared an apprehensive look. 

“How ‘bout you take a break from playing- we’ll record my part,” Roger took the intercom from Freddie for a moment.

John nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said and switched places with Roger.

Once he was behind the glass, John was approached by Brian. A concerned expression had overtaken the older man’s face. John suddenly regretted he had said anything at all.

“What’s wrong with your hands?” Brian asked, gesturing to see the subjects of their concern.

“It’s just- it’s probably just because I was playing for so long,” the bassist tried to explain his problem as he offered Brian his hands.

The guitarist took John’s hands in his own and turned them over a couple times, looking over the pink skin.

“They are swollen,” he murmured to himself, and then asked, “Do you want to go to see a doctor?”

John shook his head. “We’re recording right now.”

“You shouldn’t play if your hands are like this,” Brian sent him a pointed look before noticing something else. “What’s wrong with your neck?”

“My neck?” John repeated, reaching to rub at the skin. 

It was terribly itchy. He’d felt it earlier, but had been too focused on his playing to pay it any attention. 

Brian’s eyes widened. “Oh my God- you’re covered in  _ hives.” _

At the mention of hives, Freddie whipped around in his chair, now listening to their conversation properly. He gaped when he saw the state of their friend’s skin. At Freddie’s reaction, John walked over to the window to try to see his reflection in the glass.

John’s neck was coated with angry red splotches. The marks spread across his body from the back on his neck around to the bottom of his jaw. More hives peaked out from the neck of his button-down. 

“Oh my God,” he said, worry escalating into fear. 

What the hell was wrong with him? John didn’t have any allergies, and it couldn’t be the fabric of his shirt bothering him. He’d never reacted like this before in his life. 

“When did you notice your hands were swelling?” Brian asked him hurriedly.

“Just a few minutes ago,” said John, rubbing at his hives. God, now that he knew they were there, the itch became worse and worse with each passing second.

The guitarist swallowed nervously, thinking over their options. “Okay, you’re going to the hospital right now-” he pointed to John and then addressed Freddie. “I’m taking him to the car. You and Roger catch up with us later, alright?”

“We’ll follow you there,” Freddie agreed, his face gone pale at the severity of John’s reaction.

“What? No- I’m not going to the hospital!” John protested when Brian took him by the arm and led him out of the studio.

“Yes, you are,” the taller man pressed once they got outside. He opened his car door for John and pushed him into the seat. “This could be serious if it gets any worse.”

He opened his mouth, about to argue more on the subject, but said nothing. John shut his lips with an exasperated huff. Brian was right, after all. They didn’t know what was happening to him.

John didn’t want to admit something was wrong. If he did, it made it seem more real, and the more real it seemed, the more scared John became. He was already so, so scared. 

They sat in relative silence for the ride to the hospital. All the while, John went over how’d he felt for the past week, trying to come up with an idea for why he might be reacting so badly now. He’d felt sort of off for weeks. The usual energy he had when caring for his baby son and playing with the band was gone, replaced by an irritating fatigue that refused to disappear no matter how much he slept. He’d had some stomach cramps a couple days ago, but felt better after a few hours. Otherwise, there was nothing John could think of that was wrong, except for the symptoms he was experiencing now. 

By the time they pulled into the hospital’s drive, John began to feel worse. His lips, like his hands, were swollen as if he’d been stung by a bee. The hives had spread to his arms, and his throat felt funny.

John’s face was pale and anxious as he followed Brian into the emergency room and to the receptionist.

They explained the situation to her the best they could. John had hives and swollen hands and lips- no, they didn’t know the cause, and no, he doesn’t have any allergies. It was around this time that John’s throat began to tighten more and more.

He pulled desperately on Brian’s sleeve to get his attention, pointing at his neck while trying not to panic.

“I can’t-  _ gasp-  _ I can’t breathe-” he managed before wheezing harshly.

The blood drained from Brian’s face, and the nurse ran to call for a doctor. Soon John was pushed into a wheelchair and rushed to an examination room. Several doctors surrounded him, all trying to ask him questions.

John couldn’t answer them to save his life. His head suddenly felt so, so heavy. The room seemed to spin around him.

He looked around the group of people for Brian. Where was he? He’d just been there a second ago, next to John in the hallway, but now he couldn’t see him anywhere.

Before he had the chance to ask, the doctors slipped an oxygen mask over his face. John felt a slight pinch in his arm, noticing a doctor just administered some sort of shot.

The world went dark as John passed out.

 

\--- -

 

The waiting room became an absolute madhouse once Freddie and Roger arrived. The friends and family of the other patients all wanted autographs, and many of the nurses even took a moment from their shifts to meet the celebrities. By the time Brian returned, his two band-mates appeared annoyed with the crowd they’d gathered. Freddie looked like he was about to scream at everyone to leave them alone, while Roger had already rolled up his sleeves, ready for a fight.

When they caught sight of Brian, they ran to him, hurrying to get away from their fans.

“Where’s Deacy?” Freddie asked him, glancing over his shoulder to see a group of fans now gravitating towards them. “Can we see him?”

Brian shook his head. “The doctors just kicked me out- they put him on oxygen,” he said, his voice small and shaky.

John was not okay. No, something was seriously wrong with him. The dire reality of the situation shook Brian to his core, and the worst part was that they didn’t even know what was going on.

“Holy shit,” Roger muttered, running a hand through his hair. 

Freddie’s eyes were blown wide, his face completely crestfallen. “Do you think they’ll let us see him?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. 

“Maybe in a couple of hours,” Brian offered.

“No, no- I want to see him right now,” the singer pressed, eyes darting behind Brian. “Which room is he? I just- I don’t want to wait out here.”

Brian looked around the waiting room. Everyone was watching them. Sometimes it was so easy for him to forget that he was the lead guitarist in an internationally known rock band, but there were always reminders.

Roger had already gone to the nurse’s desk to pester her about allowing them to be with John, or at least to wait somewhere more private. 

Luckily, the nurse had been sympathetic to their situation and let them sit in an empty room while they waited for John’s doctor to come and tell them what had happened.

“It had to be an allergic reaction, right?” Brian speculated, running through John’s symptoms in his mind.

Roger sighed. “Maybe, but it honestly could be anything,” he said. “I guess he’ll have to have an allergy test.”

Their conversation flowed between John and their next tour, a weak attempt at distracting them from their worry about their bassist. 

A few hours later, they heard the door creak open. Brian, Freddie and Roger looked up from the Scrabble board one of the nurses was nice enough to fetch for them.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the doctor greeted, making his way over to them with a confident step and shaking each of their hands professionally. “My name’s Dr. Alan Bradshaw- I’ve in charge of Mr. Deacon at the moment.”

“How is he?” Freddie asked hurriedly, forgoing any further formalities.

“He’s stable,” said Dr. Bradshaw. “His hives are fading, and we’ve managed to get the swelling down a bit. He’ll have to stay overnight for further monitoring.”

The band collectively sighed in relief. Deacy was okay, for now.

“Can you tell what happened to him?” Roger asked.

Dr. Bradshaw took on a careful neutral expression. “No, I’m afraid not,” he admitted. “His symptoms would suggest that he had an allergic reaction, but according to Mr. Deacon’s file, he doesn’t have any allergies. While it is unusual to develop allergies at his age, we’ve gone ahead and ordered a few tests to be ran.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Freddie nodded along impatiently. “Can we see him now?”

The doctor smiled kindly. “Of course, if you’ll follow me,” he said, and led the three band-mates to John’s room.

When they arrived, they found a nurse holding a phone to John’s ear.

“Yes, I love you too,” he said. “Tell Robbie I said hello, won’t you?”

John paused while Veronica spoke on the other end of the line.

“I love you. Goodbye,” he said, and the nurse hung up the phone for him.

He turned to his bandmates, who seemed shaken by the sight of their youngest member in a hospital gown with an IV in his arm.

John grinned half-heartedly. “I’m not dead yet,” he chuckled.

The band let out a sigh of relief. They still had their Deacy.

 

\--- -

 

_ "Currently, it is our hypothesis that bites from ecto-parasitic ticks are the sensitizing event that leads to the development of sIgE to the oligosaccharide alpha-gal, which results in a loss of tolerance to non-primate mammalian meat and related food products in some individuals." _

 

John sat in the studio, twisting the phone’s cord in his fingers anxiously. He told his bandmates to continue recording while he made his call, but they kept sending him worried looks through the glass. 

“What kind of sugar do you use in your peanut butter?” he asked, resisting the urge to itch the hives forming on his chest. 

They’d go away with time, but God were they uncomfortable.

_ “Our company uses refined white sugar, sir,”  _ the customer service woman on the other end of the line answered.

“Okay- do you know if the sugar is bleached with bone char?” 

The woman went silent for a moment, thinking over his question. Finally, she answered,  _ “I’d have to call our supplier to find out.” _

John sighed and massaged his temple. “Alright, thank you. I’ll just avoid it from now on.”

_ “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. May I take your number so we can call you back once we find out?” _

John recited his phone number, thanked the woman for her time, and hung up the phone. He returned to the recording studio and slung his bass across his chest.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, ignoring Freddie, Brian, and Roger’s concerned looks as he tuned his instrument.

“How’d it go?” asked Freddie gently.

John frowned. Everyone was being so delicate with him lately, and it was driving him insane. It was just an allergy. He just had to get used to it.

“They didn’t know about the sugar,” he said simply. John gestured to his hives and swelling lip. “I think this all might be from that cake yesterday.”

“But that baker made it special for you,” Brian pointed out, his brow furrowing. “Do you think he messed up?’

The bassist nodded. “I called him earlier today. Turns out he used a box mix because it doesn’t need milk, but the mix had lard in it, so-” he shrugged- “I reacted.”

The three men stared at him in disbelief.

“Fuck,” Roger muttered. “Do you want to go to the hospital again?”

“No, I already took my medicine, and as long as I just stick with oatmeal and chicken for the next few days, I’ll be fine,” John said, trying to be nonchalant about the situation.

Freddie, Brian, and Roger shared a look.

“Deacy, darling, are you sure you’ll be alright?” asked Freddie, placing a comforting hand on John’s shoulder.

The youngest Queen member stared down at the singer’s black-painted nails, a thought forming on the edge of his mind. His eyes widened, and a tense expression overtook his face.

Trying to be casual, but failing miserably, John quickly tugged Freddie’s hand off his shoulder.

Guilt flooded his body when he glanced to Freddie’s saddened eyes.

“Sorry- I just, I don’t know what’s in your nail polish,” he explained hurriedly, staring at his feet. “Or, I dunno-” his face fell- “ _ Shit-  _ what kind of soap is in the restrooms here?”

“Um-” was all Freddie could manage before John rushed out of the studio and down the hall to check the ingredients list.

 

\--- -

 

_"In these instances, we have noted that elimination of mammalian meat alone does not result in complete amelioration of reactions. Our clinical approach has been to follow meat avoidance with dietary elimination of dairy and related foods. If this step does not lead to cessation of reactions, complete avoidance of alpha-gal containing products – to include gelatin and other by-products, may be necessary."_

 

John stared longingly through the window of the barbershop. Inside, there was another man around his age getting his hair done with the newest trend: a perm.

God, John wanted one so bad, but he'd be damned if he got one. 

He watched the man have chemicals sprayed into his hair.

It always took so long to track down ingredients. In the end, he'd come to the conclusion that if he didn't know for sure if something could contain an allergen, then he shouldn't use it. To John's dismay, that included the solution used for perms. 

The bassist scowled as he turned away from the storefront and continued down the street, mulling over everything he couldn't have anymore.

Beef, pork, lamb, gelatin, wool clothes, jello, gummy bears, mini-wheats, chips, crisps, milk, scones, biscuits, ice-cream, shakes, white sugar, cheese, and so much more. 

God, he even had to switch detergent. He left Freddie's birthday party early because he was nervous about the fumes from the barbecue- and sure enough, five hours later he was trapped in bed with cramps and hives. The physical reaction was one thing, but the paranoia was another. 

Nothing was safe for John anymore, not really. Caution kept him alive, and by this point, that's what his focus had to be on. 

That's what his life had become. 


End file.
